Probability
by Science and Fiction
Summary: They were perfect together but even dream couples can fall apart. The first cracks in a facade of perfection. AU
1. Discovery

Disclaimer: I don't own this, as much as I'd like to. Sorry.

Credits to my good friend and proof-reader, standinginthe-wings, she's amazing, and the one who forced me to publish this. Go check her out. I helped with 2AM and I'm looking through her new and upcoming stories too.

This story is dedicated to a very special person who is a huge part of my life and somebody I respect and look up to a lot.

[This chapter has been edited.]

* * *

Chapter 1 – Discovery

Her heart was pounding hard in her chest, as if trying to escape the confines of her body, and was ready to burst in an explosion of conflicting emotions. Worry, fear, sadness, doubt but the strongest was disbelief. This wasn't right. This didn't happen to people like her.

She was happy, they were happy, weren't they? When did that change?

Sure, maybe they hadn't been talking much these past few months but he was busy with the ongoing construction project in China, the deal with the European branch seemed to be falling through and they always needed his help in some way or another. He wouldn't be out doing something like this.

He was her best friend. Sure, the circumstances of their marriage were anything but conventional but there was still something between them at the very least. Blinding, heart-stopping passion would fade just as soon as it appeared and she was grateful of the nature of their relationship.

She missed the easy-going camaraderie between them. She missed the boy she fell in love with at 18 and married at 21.

_That_ was when they had just gotten married.

_That_ was a lifetime ago.

She had known that life with him would be difficult. He had his own company to save, and with the merger with the Yukihara industries, his workload increased, he was doing so much more work than he could handle, and he would always be busy.

That's why she could understand at first when he showed up late for dinners and occasionally forgot appointments. She could forgive the fact that after a while; he hadn't shown up at all. Instead, he started asking his secretary Nobara to give her a call, and sending her apology notes and flowers or chocolates.

When he had missed Hotaru's homecoming dinner celebrating her return from a lengthy stay working in the States, he gave her a necklace.

For her parents' death anniversary, it was a pair of earrings.

For their third anniversary, a box of her favourite sweets and a toy bear with a ring, strung onto the ribbon around its neck. When you pressed its tummy, it said "I love you". It was supposed to be customised but she had no doubt that it wasn't his voice. He wouldn't be caught dead saying such things in public, really. But it was a good imitation of his voice, nonetheless.

All beautiful gifts, thoughtful, sweet, and he would always be apologetic when he got home but he was slowly moving farther and farther away from her and there was nothing she could do but try valiantly to pull him back.

All Mikan wanted to do was go back to once upon a time, back when life was hard, he was always busy but they were happy, and they were very, very much in love.

No matter how busy they were, how many appointments and meetings he had, how many paintings she had to churn out or invitations to dinners they received, they would put in effort into maintaining contact with the other person.

They came up with a routine, and would call if the other was overseas, and made it a point to sit down at dinner to simply talk about their day or at least meet up in the afternoon for coffee. They were the golden couple, as far as the general public was aware, and their friends were just glad that the stoic young man and the flighty girl had found love after all. They were perfect, so why didn't she deserve a happy ending?

Now all that was left were continuous arguments, in which things were thrown and voices raised and he would shake his head at her, asking her to think, 'for once in her goddamn life!' before ending each one by glaring at her coldly, storming out of the apartment and staying away from home the whole night.

There were always nights spent alone and tears and food gone cold waiting. Was she the one that pushed him away?

But then again, maybe she shouldn't have been so surprised.

There enough warning signs. There were the long nights spent at the office, coming home at 2 am, or not at all, and she told herself he was busy, after all, companies didn't run themselves, and who really needed to celebrate half-anniversaries, and almost-birthdays anyway? (Even if she had spent many hours baking a cake or preparing for said events.) They were merely another reminder that she was growing old.

And he wouldn't touch her anymore. Always saying he was tired, needed rest and she accepted that. In relationships, there was more than the physical aspect, wasn't there? Now she knew better, knew that he had someone _else_ to fulfil his needs and wants.

Her hand paused for a moment, waiting in mid-air.

Should she really have seen it coming? Well, forgive her for actually having faith in her spouse!

But a little voice in her head told her that she wasn't that trusting, was she? After all, she had been getting suspicious of his late night outings and him coming home reeking of alcohol and perfume. He claimed that he had to entertain clients but she wasn't so sure. She had checked his inbox in his phone earlier on but found nothing.

She didn't give up so easily, though. He would not be as careless as to leave incriminating evidence in something as easily accessed as his cell phone. In the end, she had resorted to asking Hotaru for a favour. But should she have done so?

Mikan slashed another stroke of red paint onto the canvas, entirely giving up on the bowl of fruit in front of her and turned the artistic piece into one full of angry expressions, viciously attacking away at it until it became an undistinguishable blend of red, yellow and green hues.

She sighed, her fingers reaching out for the brown envelope lying innocuously on a nearby table.

And stopped herself just in time.

No, Mikan admonished herself. There is no need to check it again. Those pictures are real, and no amount of checking or double-checking will change that fact.

Yet her heart (_damn that infernal organ_!) still constricted painfully at the thought of _her_ Natsume (_he was hers, damn it! How could anybody take him away?_) with another person and she found herself frantically flipping open the package, hoping it wasn't real (_please, please, I want my __husband__! Please!_) only to be met with the same numbing disappointment.

Natsume with a blonde draped on his arm. (That could just have been a client coming too close)

Natsume laughing at a stupid joke that she mentioned. (He was being polite.)

Natsume kissing her. (This wasn't happening.)

Natsume entering a hotel with her. (Just make it stop.)

Natsume exiting the hotel a few hours later, clothes clearly rumpled, and his hair tousled, and rubbing away a lipstick stain in his cheek.

Then he took a cab home, straight into her loving (and blissfully ignorant) arms.

She should have felt disgusted, but all she acknowledged was that the pain that had been at bay for a while now, as she painted, had hit her full force, and she couldn't breathe, something was choking her and she couldn't speak and— it hurt just as much as the first time.

She bit her lip until it bled. She was so stupid.

Here she was, a silly wife waiting for her husband to come home, while he was out with this woman.

This gorgeous woman with legs that went on forever, and a million-watt smile down to a tee. The one who probably only had to flip her hair to have men tripping over themselves to attend to her every need. She was beautiful. Tall, blond, attractive, and judging by the way he was smiling at her, interesting too.

She felt a sudden sense of despair as she looked at those photos. How could _she_ compete with well, _that?_

She looked at her reflection on the glass table. She was 24, not too old but not exactly young either. Her brown hair seemed to dark for hazel, too light for chestnut, and really could only be called just plain brown.

She was slender, her figure wasn't too but she had put on a few pounds over the years and she didn't have the same killer figure that Blondie seemed to have. Her eyes were an odd shade of yellow which could pass for amber, if she was lucky and sadly, her only truly pretty feature was her smile.

Hotaru often said that it would light up her face, and she looked so much better than she would without it. But all in all, when it was her husband in question, the one with the crimson eyes, heart-melting smirk and gorgeous features, he was completely out of her league.

And then a thought crept into her mind. What if the reason that he left her was that he didn't love her anymore?

It was a concept so foreign, so absurd that she had never considered it, but now that she actually considered that possibility, it didn't seem so far-fetched after all.

She didn't notice the tear until she tasted the salt on her lips. Mikan smiled wryly, looking at the photos in her hand. Now that she had accepted the fact that it was real, she realised that she should have known it long ago.

If these photos were taken by someone that Hotaru, Blackmailer Extraordinaire, had personally handpicked, there was no way that this information could be false.

And Hotaru had known too, hadn't she? Known that the news in the envelope was bad and known that the truth would have hurt her. It was all there in her strange cryptic warnings, to keep a close eye on him, always wanting to stay with her until she came back, her sudden coldness towards him; she knew. She had even forewarned her, while passing her the pictures.

"_Are you sure, Mikan? For all we know, he might really be just busy and if he isn't, well, what are you going to do? Are you going to leave him? Or just pretend that it never happened?" She had looked at her, really looked at her and said, "I only want what's best for you. And I'm not so sure that this is good for you. What if you don't like what's inside? What if you get hurt?"_

_Mikan just smiled reassuringly, replying that she could handle it, and that she needn't worry, she could take care of herself._

How wrong she was.

They were fighting all the time now, and she had spent many nights crying herself to sleep. There were days when she woke up and didn't know what she was doing. And as much as she wanted to, she couldn't pretend anymore. The truth was painful, but she had to face it.

She couldn't force the words out with the lump in her throat, and she swallowed until she could. But with the thought to say it aloud came fear and, if she would admit it, a small flicker of hope. If she was honest with herself, she didn't want this to be real, but she had to do this. It was the first step. She took a deep breath.

"Looks like you don't love me anymore ne, Natsume?" and then she gave up, sat down and cried. Huge gasping sobs that fought their way out of her throat, and she gripped the edge of the couch tightly.

She just needed something, anything, to hold on to; to remind her that this was real and not some sick, twisted dream that was holding her hostage for the time being. And with her grief came anger and she was furious.

How could he do _that_ to her? Did their wedding vows not mean _anything_ to him? Was she not _enough_ for him?

Outrage.

Anger.

Grief.

Loss.

_Pain._

"Why?" she screamed, the anger that had been bubbling away tore out of her body in that one painful shriek. She didn't care if anyone had heard her. Her image was the last thing on her mind right now. The image of sweet and gentle Mrs Hyuuga could go to hell and back for all she cared. She reached out for a flower blown from hot glass ("as beautiful and delicate as you are") and threw it on the ground.

"Why?"A vase on the nearby table joined the heap of broken glass on the floor.

"Why?" she yelled and yelled, until she was almost hoarse.

Suddenly the phone rang, interrupting her rant. She didn't want to answer it right now.

Ring.

She ignored it.

Ring.

She Didn't. Want. To. Answer. It.

_Ring._

She stormed across the room, picked up the phone and with all her strength flung it at the nearby wall. It stopped ringing immediately.

"Shut up!" she screamed.

She wanted to destroy every useless gift that he had sent her and tear apart every single photo of them together right then and there. There were all just full of empty promises. Promises that he didn't fulfil.

Breathing heavily, and not quite in control of her emotions at the moment, she swiped at the tears that were blurring her vision, and grabbed the photo frame of both of them smiling happily into the camera. Without even blinking, she sent it smashing to the floor. She snatched the photo off the ground, barely noticing the glass pieces on the floor had cut her hand as she bent down.

Blood slowly dripped onto the photo, staining it a dark red. She tried to wipe it away but it became a smear, and she was rubbing, rubbing at it frantically to get rid of it. Blood was already spread across the photo, seemingly telling her that the happy couple trapped inside the little rectangle were doomed. Cursed never to have a happy ever after.

"No!" she couldn't stand to look at it, and Mikan ripped it into two, creating a line that cut cleanly between the boy and the girl. She stood still, watching the two forever mismatched pieces float to the floor.

Nothing could ever mend the pieces back together again, not with such a huge rift in between.

"No," she whispered hollowly to herself. "No," she moaned, putting her head in her hands and sinking to the floor once again.

"No." She never thought this would happen, until it did.

* * *

When Hotaru came over, having already foreseen something like this happening, Mikan wasn't even surprised anymore.

"I'm not even going to ask how you got in." she said wearily, from her seat on the floor.

"I'll take it that you have seen the photos." Hotaru spoke calmly, although her insides were a bunch of nerves. Unlike other times, she couldn't predict exactly how her best friend would react to the news. In all the possible scenarios that she had thought of, the outcome was not pretty, to say the least. There was no reply from the girl slumped against the couch.

"Have you calmed down or will I have to sedate you?" Hotaru said half-jokingly, hoping her words would elicit some response from her.

Nothing.

"Would you just say something?" Hotaru raised her voice. She was getting worried and Mikan wasn't exactly helping the situation.

"What do you want me to say, Hotaru?" she lifted her head to look at her friend for the first time since she had entered and Hotaru could see her swollen eyes and drying tear tracks down her face. "That I hate him? Shouldn't have married him? Should have known better?" Mikan said dryly. "Because I don't, I would still want to, and I didn't. Rub it in my face. Whatever, I don't care."

Hotaru sighed. This was going to be difficult. She didn't know what was worse, a weeping and hysterical Mikan or a bitter and cynical one. She tried again. "Shouldn't you be crying or wailing about how he shouldn't have done that, or how angry you are at him, at the very least?'

Mikan laughed. It was a small laugh, cold and rather devoid of emotion but it was a start. She gestured to the state of chaos the living room was in. Hotaru took in the unfinished painting, broken shards of glass on the floor and her bloody hands. "I did just that."

She leaned back against the couch again. "And do you know what the worst part is? It's not what he did, that he cheated on me behind my back, or how stupid I was to believe all of his silly little lies but that after all this, I'm still in love with him, Hotaru. How dumb is that?" her voice grew choked and she couldn't continue anymore.

Hotaru walked closer and put an arm around her. "I'm going to kill him." She whispered angrily. "Don't tempt me, Hotaru. Right now, I'm inclined to let you." Mikan muttered before she was overcome with a fresh round of tears. "Oh, Hotaru. I don't know what to do without him." Hotaru pulled her closer. That confession broke her heart and she was fighting back tears as she awkwardly patted Mikan's back and quietly said, "I'll always be here for you, stupid."

She held her until there was nothing left to cry anymore, until the hiccups subsided and she was merely a shell, with a huge hole inside of her, filled with painfully naive thoughts of what could have and should have been. It was just too much for her to handle.

After a while, Mikan sniffed and pulled away from the half-embrace. She wiped the remaining tears with the back of her hand. "Thanks, Hotaru. I should go clean everything up now. Thanks for coming." She said softly, rising to go and sweep up the glass pieces.

Hotaru grabbed on to her wrist and pressed a small bottle into her palm.

"What's this?" Mikan asked, though she had an inkling of the bottle's contents. "Sleeping pills. I thought that it might help." Hotaru said.

Mikan shook the bottle slightly. "You trust me not to OD and kill myself?" and a strange look came into her eyes. Hotaru had a bad feeling about it and looked her straight in the eye. "Don't joke around like that." And just like that, the look was gone, leaving Hotaru to wonder if she had imagined it. Mikan smiled. "Sorry. It wasn't funny."

She tried to leave for the second time but once again, Hotaru stopped her. "Why don't you just take a pill, ONE pill, and go to bed. I'll clean this place up."

Mikan knew better than to argue with her so she complied. "Okay, thanks again, Hotaru." She shakily made her way into the spare room (not the bedroom, not when _he _slept there too) and closed the door quietly.

After a vigorous round of cleaning, Hotaru entered the bedroom and sat next to her, watching the gentle rise and fall of her chest. Was this really necessary? Maybe she should have left the entire incident alone. At least her best friend would still be happily living in her little bubble. She exhaled slowly and left, leaving the door slightly ajar.

The photos were still lying on the table outside, forgotten. Hotaru picked them up and took out a lighter from her pocket. Holding the edge of the stack of pictures to the wavering flame, she watched as they were slowly consumed with each lick of the flame, and were eventually reduced to ashes.

There would always be other copies, and worse pictures that sickened even her, but this was enough for one day. Tomorrow would be another story.

"Goodnight baka, sleep tight" she whispered, and then shut the door on her sleeping friend.

* * *

Hey Everyone.

Saffy here. Hope you like the chapter.

Don't forget to leave a review!

[This chapter has been edited.]


	2. Dis Appointments

Disclaimer: No. Not mine.

Thanks to my betas, standinginthe-wings and empty. Special thanks to my reviewers Name and empty.

To all: Please note that the previous chapter has been edited. Some stuff has been cleared up, so do go and take a look.

* * *

She had requested for some privacy, and upon hearing of her name, the waiter struggled to seat her immediately. It was a secret, apparently, the identity of this mysterious woman, and one that he wasn't privy to.

Masaki scowled. He had just been promoted, but still too low on the economic hierarchy in the restaurant (Man, he hated his boss) to hear any of the important gossip, and thanks to his recent promotion, too high up to be trusted with any scandalous news. He took his anger out by snarling at a few waiters, and watched them cringe in fear. Well, at the very least, he had a few rookies to scare.

Rookies. Their constant fear of rebuke left them cowering in his sight, and at the moment, he found it particularly amusing.

But the woman at the far table was truly a beauty. Her brown hair was a slightly messy bun although a few defiant curls seemed to escape their constraints, framing her heart-shaped face. The dress that she wore was a vivid red, a stark contrast against her porcelain skin. She looked lost in a world of her own, sitting there with thoughtful eyes and fingers gently tapping on the tabletop in an irregular pattern.

Masaki noted with a wry smile that she checked her watch every once a while with furrowed brows, accompanied with a small sigh.

Masaki looked at the clock again. With time slowly ticking by and coupled with her lack of any order besides the customary glass of water, her presence at the restaurant was slowly becoming unwarranted. She had been sitting in there for at least 2 hours now. She was probably waiting for someone, he guessed. And that someone was most likely late.

As much as he admired her presence, and wanted her to stay, she simply could not linger in the restaurant for so long without an inkling of a proper order. He could give her one last chance, and decided to ask for her order again. He nudged a rookie, a trainee with shaking hands and a perpetually frightened look on his face.

Seniority and power had been bestowed upon him by the restaurant management, and he was not afraid of using it. The worst jobs would help those rookies toughen up anyway. And seeing the little kid move awkwardly towards the lonely woman in red, he grinned to himself. He loved his job.

* * *

"E-excuse me?" Mikan looked up to see a petrified waiter nervously clutching at his writing pad.

"Yes?" she asked, smiling at him, trying to make him feel more at ease. This, however, seemed to have the opposite effect intended, for he blushed bright red at the sudden attention and couldn't look her in the eye. She smiled patiently, waiting for his question, quite used to a similar reaction from female waitresses whenever she ate with Natsume.

"W-w-would you l-like t-t-to ord-der now?" the waiter managed to stammer out.

Her smile faded slightly at the waiter's words. He panicked even more, thinking that he had somehow offended the pretty lady sitting in front of him and frantically tried to apologise. Immediately noting the waiter's look of panic and worry and realising that she had been the cause, her face broke out in a radiant smile. It worked like a charm and the poor fellow relaxed.

"I'm waiting for someone ah, Hitori-kun." She explained, after a quick peek at his nametag. "Could you please give me a little bit more time?" she asked with a sweet smile. He fidgeted uncomfortably. His manager, Masaki, wasn't going to like this, not one bit.

For his job's sake, he had to get her to order. He opened his mouth to ask her to order but was interrupted by the sound of a cell phone ringing.

"Sorry." She shot him an apologetic look and glanced at the phone screen. "I have to take this." He made a jerky movement that might have been a casual shrug.

"Hello?" she must have recognised the caller because her eyes narrowed almost instantly. Her voice turned icy cold, and he felt sorry for the person at the other end of the line. He wouldn't want to be in his shoes right now.

"Where is he?" she demanded. She made an indignant noise after hearing the reply. "No, I don't care if he has a –. A meeting that lasts for 12 hours? Because I know for a fact that the _only _meeting that he had was one at 9 o'clock this morning and there wouldn't be any sudden meetings that he called for because Ruka is already back home."

"There isn't any other reason I can think of that he might be late and why you would hide it from me." She said scathingly. He stood quietly, watching her continue her angry tirade, gulping slightly at her venomous words and chilling tone.

"And as for your question, well maybe because it's our anniversary? Late? By 2 hours! No, no, _you_ look Nobara. Natsume pays you to do a lot of things. And I really hope that one of them is not lie to me." Her voice grew even colder, if that possible and she almost sneered into the phone. "You know what I'm talking about." Mikan angrily snapped her phone shut. All the fight left her after the call ended and her shoulders slumped. He could see she was trying valiantly to hold back tears.

"Ma'am, are you okay?" he ventured hesitantly. She seemed to remember his presence for she visibly pulled herself together, taking several deep breaths. "Well, since my date isn't coming, I guess I'll leave now. Thank you for your service, and it was nice meeting you, Hitori-kun." She straightened herself, tucked a few strands behind her ear and picked up her clutch bag which was lying forlornly on the table.

Without another word, she swept out of the restaurant like a whirlwind, leaving Hitori behind, with his breath taken away.

* * *

Only when she was in the cab and safely on the way home that she picked up her phone and punched in a number that she had memorised a long time ago.

"Hello, Hotaru?" her voice sounded slightly choked. Hotaru immediately pushed Ruka's hands off her waist and pulled away from his embrace. Ruka groaned. "I just got home, Hotaru. Can't I expect a remotely warmer welcome from my girlfriend?"

She shot him her patented I'm-an-Imai-so-back-off-_now_ look. He shut up. Then said, "Be quiet, Nogi, I'll welcome you back later. The idiot is on the phone." Hearing that, he perked up slightly. "Oh! Mikan's on the phone! Can I— "but her boyfriend of 2 years never got to finish what he wanted to say because they were interrupted by sniffling sounds.

"I tried to give him another chance. If this marriage meant anything to him at all, he would have shown up, instead of spending time with her. I'm so angry with him."

"What did he do this time?" Hotaru released a breath she didn't know she was holding when Ruka placed his hand on hers to reassure her.

There was a sigh heard over the phone, then silence. "What he did or didn't do doesn't matter anymore. Could you come over, Hotaru? I'm going to need your help for this." And with that, Mikan hung up.

* * *

Natsume came home to see his wife in a beautiful dress, one that clinged tightly to her body, and with her hair done up just the way he liked it. He stared at his wife, admiring the creamy white expanse of skin that was her neck, and let his eyes roam over her figure. Why was she dressed like that? Dinner together normally entailed a quiet meal at home, or at a small restaurant.

While pondering that question, he couldn't help but notice the glimmer of the ring on her finger and his hand moved over to check if he still had his on. He had taken it off earlier that night, in light of his _activities_. With a gentle pat, he realised he did. He moved closer to where his wife was, in their room, dropping his keys on the tabletop.

She was sorting through a pile of clothes on the bed, and passing them to Imai, who stood by her side, methodically folding them and placing them into a ridiculously orange suitcase. She seemed to be in a hurry though. She had been in the middle of tossing out a yellow shirt and upon hearing the slight disturbance had looked up immediately, dropping the article of clothing in her hands. Imai sensed her sudden halt and followed her actions.

The look on Imai's face when she saw him, Natsume thought to himself, was that of utter contempt and disgust. She turned to Mikan and spoke into her ear. He only caught a few words. "Going... car... be ready in 5 minutes." Mikan nodded and continued sifting through her clothes.

"What exactly, are you doing?" he moved away from his spot at the door frame and advanced towards her.

"I'm packing." Came her reply.

"I can see that." He was standing next to her now. "If you wanted to stay over at Imai's for a while. You could have just told me." He said, peering over her shoulder to see what else was in the bag.

"I'm not staying over for a few days." She said calmly, trying to avoid his gaze.

"Then why are you packing?"

"Well," She did not cease her activity but talked to him patiently, as if explaining to a petulant child that it was a necessity to wash one's hands before a meal. "It's traditionally what people do when they're—"She didn't finish her sentence but he knew what she meant.

He grabbed her wrists with one hand and used the other to lift her chin up. "Look at me," he said, his voice dangerously soft. "Why are you packing?" She shrugged out of his grasp and slammed the suitcase shut. Mikan looked up at him with a defiant gaze.

"Natsume, I'm leaving."


End file.
